Angels Among Us
by Hicatanio
Summary: Things aren't going well at the MASH 4077th. Depression is up and moral is down. Hawkeye feels as though he can't go on, until he meets his "guardian angel"


Angels Among Us  
  
Attention all personnel, let the bad times roll, choppers and ambulances in the compound!  
  
The 4077th MASH seemed to moan in unison as the early morning announcement woke the camp before dawn. People began to pour out of tents, barely awake, some not even dressed, but ready to clean up the aftermath of the war's most recent battle.  
  
Nurses raced to prepare triage, lead by the head nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan. Enlisted men made their way through the dirt swirled up by the great winds of the helicopters, Corporal Walter "Radar" O'Riely shouting out orders before they were issued. The doctors, Major Charles E. Winchester, Captain B.J Hunnicutt, Colonel Sherman T. Potter and I, Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce were scrubbing up, readying to dig into the young men brought in that spring morning.  
  
"Its really a rotten trick to be woken up from a nightmare only to find you are living in one ten times worse." I said, drying my hands.  
  
"Not sleeping well, Pierce?" Potter asked me.  
  
"Ha!" was the only response I gave him before backing through the door and into the operating room.  
  
Inside the operating room the four tables held young men, nurses pressing roughly on their wounds, trying to slow the blood loss. Each of us took our positions, sighed audibly, and held out a hand for the first instrument we would use to sew the American soldiers back together.  
  
For hours we worked, quickly mending wound after wound, only to be bombarded with more gore. Usually the doctors would joke or sing to keep from going insane, but not this time. There was a sadness, a sort of dark feeling that hung in the air, completely unexplainable. The only sound in the operating room was the slow, steady drip of I.V.s and the occasional demand for an instrument.  
  
I was asleep on my feet. I knew I was going to fall over, should ask if someone could take over for me, but I didn't. I continued my work, praying I didn't miss anything. I shouldn't have had that last martini last night, I thought as I fought the urge to rub my eyes. I felt an insistent push on my hand and looked over at Margaret, the nurse assigned to me that day.  
  
"Doctor, you asked for a clamp." She shoved the handle into my gloved hand and checked the patient's vital signs.  
  
I did? I couldn't remember. Oh, well. I put the clamp where it was needed and looked down at my handiwork. It wasn't pretty. My stitches weren't tight enough and there were bleeders everywhere. So much for not missing anything.  
  
"How's he doing, Pierce?" Potter said at the table beside mine.  
  
"Oh, well, he has, umm, a few more holes in him then I thought." I answered and started pulling out the inadequate stitches.  
  
I noticed B.J glanced back at me a few times, but I couldn't see his face and he didn't say anything. It took a half hour before I was done with the man, and there were still more to do.  
  
Charles had finished and had left, so had the Colonel, and B.J was on his last. I wasn't sure which I was on; I had lost count three hours earlier.  
  
"So, who were you with last night?" B.J asked, breaking the deafening silence that had plagued the OR all day.  
  
I stopped working and thought a moment. Who was I with? "Uhh, Beej, I think you drank too much last night. I was in the Swamp with you."  
  
B.J chuckled. "Fine, you don't want to tell me about her, I can understand. You must not have scored."  
  
"Ha! Beej, I always score." Wait, what was I defending? I was in the Swamp last night! "But I think you are more tired than I am. I was asleep, probably on the floor beside the still."  
  
"Oh, come on, Hawk. You left after I fell asleep! You were mumbling about her in your sleep for an hour before the wounded arrived." B.J tied one last knot in a small, young man that reminded the two of Radar. "Done." An orderly came in and hoisted the man off the table, carrying him off into Post-Op. "Need help, Hawk?"  
  
I dropped the scalpel I had been using on a private's leg. The wound was superficial, there was little more involved with the surgery then pulling the skin back together, but somehow I had taken fifteen minutes cutting away dead skin. "Help," I said. 


End file.
